


Love Is A Ghost You Can't Control

by justanotherunluckysoul



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Accidental Self-Harm, Anger, Angst, Fever, Gen, Grief, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherunluckysoul/pseuds/justanotherunluckysoul
Summary: "Killian knew he sounded frenzied, wild, bordering on insane. His outburst was drawing attention from the rest of his crew but he didn’t care. Smee looked like he was trying to crawl right out of his skin to avoid the point of the hook pressed against his jugular."Set in early Neverland days. As a grieving Killian sinks deeper into the darkness, Smee awkwardly tries to cement his own place on the Jolly Roger's crew.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Love Is A Ghost You Can't Control

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a follow up to my story For Love And Revenge, but works as a standalone fic as well. I just had some more ideas that didn’t quite flow on from the end of the other story. Title is from Christina Perri’s “The Words.” (go watch the music video for it, if you hadn’t already!)

**Rating:** M  
 **Characters:** Killian Jones, Peter Pan, William Smee  
 **Word count:** 4233  
 **Summary:** An exploration of early Neverland days and how Smee earned Killian's trust enough to become his first mate, with a smattering of whump and angst for good measure. In which Killian reluctantly begins working for Pan and tries to keep himself from losing his mind.   
**Warnings:** **Implied/referenced Hook/Pan non-con** but nothing graphic. **Accidental self-harm.**  
 **Disclaimer:** None of these characters are mine.

**Love Is A Ghost You Can’t Control**

"You will do what I say, _Hook_ ," Pan said, his voice sharp, "Or there will be consequences."

Killian bristled at the unfamiliar, and unwanted, moniker.

"It's Captain Jones."

Pan only tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised as he looked challengingly at Killian. He'd appeared on board without warning as the crew busied themselves preparing for the day, and in a moment he had every one of the crew members locked in place with a twist of his hand, although for some reason he'd left Killian free. Now Killian gazed back into Pan’s eyes and there no trace in them of the boy he looked to be. No, this was a demon. Just like the Dark One.

"And I won't make a bloody deal with you,” Killian growled, pushing aside the flicker of fear growing within him.

"A deal? Of course not, I'm not here to make deals."

Pan stepped closer to John, and Killian ground his teeth together to hold back his instinctive protest as the demon took the cutlass from the first mate's hand.

"Here's how it goes. You now work for me, and you will do whatever I ask of you. And if you don't, more of this is going to happen."

Killian never got a chance to ask what Pan was talking about, because in the next moment, he had driven that weapon right through John's heart. Killian might have screamed. He's not sure. But then Pan was right in his face and Killian's own cutlass was half drawn, held back by Pan's magic.

"That was only the beginning," Pan said, "You have until tomorrow night to be on that shore, pledging your allegiance to me. And if you don't... well, let's just say I'm going to really _enjoy_ myself that night."

Pan smiled predatorily as he caressed Killian's jaw in a way that left no dispute as to what _exactly_ he planned to do with the captain if his instructions weren't followed. Killian's skin crawled. Then the demon vanished, and Killian nearly fell to his knees as his magical bonds were released. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Some of the crew quickly gathered around John's body, but it was obvious the man was already dead. Killian was in disbelief, caught in that destructive place between anger and grief, where your chest feels tight and your throat closes, but you can’t quite cry and you want to scream and fight and break down but none of it happens. So Killian just stood there in frozen silence for too long, until he realized his crew was now looking to him for direction.

* * *

They buried John at sea just after midday. Killian forced himself to say a few words. John had been part of the crew from the very beginning, his place as first mate well earned. And more than that, he'd been a trusted friend, helping Killian stay afloat in those first few days after Liam’s death, and then again after Milah’s. He owed John more than he could ever say. It was too much in such a short space of time. Killian could feel himself spiralling, losing control. And the weight of his imminent decision still hovered over his head. How long could he resist Pan and the Lost Ones? Could he, in good conscience, risk his men’s lives by doing so? Pan had already killed John like it was nothing, like _John_ was nothing. Just like the crocodile had killed Milah. And Pan surely had further evil plans for them if Killian didn’t surrender, he had made that clear. Killian internally berated himself for ever coming back to Neverland. Another impulsive decision, exactly what his loved ones had always warned him against.

“Bloody cursed island,” he muttered, taking another swig of rum.

He needed to quieten his mind, just a little, shake off the crushing guilt he’s feeling. He needed to think objectively. He was too emotional right now. His thoughts kept bouncing around from one trauma to another and he couldn’t seem to calm them. The Dark One standing over him in the alley, using Killian’s own sword to pin him down. Liam dying in his arms, Killian screaming uselessly for help. _Twice, remember?_ _No, stop._ Milah touching his face, whispering _I love you_. Pan sliding the sword effortlessly between John’s ribs. _Stop!_ And suddenly Killian’s hook was buried in his leg. He blinked at it for a moment in hazy disbelief before yanking it loose. His involuntary cry of pain drew attention, and momentarily there were footsteps on the stairs.

"Captain? Is everything alright?"

_No, everything's not bloody alright._

"'s fine. Go 'way," he said instead, and since when did his voice get so slurred?

"You're bleeding."

And suddenly Smee was next to him, daring not only to deny a direct order but also to grab Killian's shoulder. Killian growled and went to punch the insolent man. He missed. Apparently, he was drunker than he thought.

"Sir, please, let me help-"

Killian pushed his chair back from the table and his wounded leg nearly gave out when he stood. God, he's such an idiot, stabbing himself with his own hook.

"Get out," he snarled.

Smee didn't. In fact, Smee was actually calling for assistance now, because Killian had pitched forward and Smee's probably the only thing keeping him from going all the way to the floor.

"Leave me be," Killian mumbled at the two - _three? He can’t see straight_ \- blurred shapes that come down the stairs.

He shoved hard against the man bracing him and stumbled backward. Smee barely avoided the wildly swinging hook and quickly caught Killian's forearm before he could make another pass at any of them.

"Sir, if you just-"

"I said leave me!"

Killian managed to pull a bit of strength into his voice but he couldn't seem to do the same for his body.

"I am your captain. Y-you do as I command."

He couldn't even stay conscious long enough to see if they do.

* * *

Killian drifted in and out of awareness. His leg was on fire from hip to ankle. He fought against the hands holding him, yelled, spat curses until he fell into darkness again. Then there was a damp cloth on his face, gentle fingers on his jaw.

"Milah," he whispered.

The touch withdrew immediately.

"No, don't leave me!"

He lurched upright, biting back a cry as the pain speared through his knee again, and grabbed the arm pulling away from him.

"Take it easy, Captain."

Smee's voice was like a slap in the face. Killian dragged himself back to full awareness and shoved Smee away from him.

"Bloody hell. What the devil are you doing, Smee?"

He twisted so his legs reached the floor, and sat there for a moment, holding his head. _God_ , his brain felt like it was going to fall right out of his skull. And it's likely his stomach would follow shortly after.

"You... you've hurt yourself a bit, sir," Smee explained nervously, which at this point just seemed like his natural state, "Just rest, alright? I'll get you some water."

"No. Get me rum."

"Captain, I really think-"

"Mr Smee. Rum."

Smee did as he was told, for once. The rum did no favours for Killian's swirling stomach, but it did settle his head somewhat. With his thoughts flowing clearer, Killian realized something else and fixed Smee with a dark look.

"Where's my hook?"

"Uh, we had to take it off," Smee said.

He looked dreadfully uncomfortable under Killian's gaze.

"You were thrashing around too much, I thought you might... hurt yourself."

_Again._

"Give it back," Killian demanded harshly, "Now."

Smee complied. A small voice at the back of Killian’s mind ( _it sounded like Liam, it always did, though he couldn’t be certain now that he’s even remembering his brother’s voice correctly, it’s been so long_ ) said he should thank the man for cleaning the blood off it. But the words were buried too far down. The hook made Killian feel a little less feeble, a little more whole, and having it removed without his consent was almost more than he could take. He clicked it back into the slot and let the rage consume him.

"I should have you flogged."

"I-I’m sorry, sir. Please don't."

"Who helped you?"

"D-davis. And Baldy."

Killian pushed himself to his feet and immediately regretted it. There was no strength in his wounded leg, the knee refusing to lock at all. He gritted his teeth and sat back down.

"I don't think your medical skills are quite up to task, Smee."

"Sorry, sir. I did my best but the wound was quite deep. It'll take some time to heal."

"Let Davis and Baldy know that I'm thinking of an appropriate punishment," Killian said, "and for you as well. Now get out."

Smee quickly obeyed. Now alone, Killian took a moment to examine his leg. Of course Smee had actually done a decent job sewing him back together. The man was surprisingly deft with a needle and thread, as evidenced by his work when Killian had torn the stitches on his stump just days after arriving in Neverland. But now more than ever, Killian couldn't seem to keep his anger in check and most times, he was beyond caring.

Between the infernal cramping of his left hand, which despite being gone for weeks now still found a way to pain him, and the newer throbbing agony in his leg, Killian couldn't settle. He'd plunged the hook in just above and slightly to the outside of his left knee, and the whole joint now felt painfully swollen and the rest of the leg below it was practically useless. He finally gave up on sleep sometime before dawn and dragged himself up to the deck. There was usually only one man on deck at this time of night, when they weren't sailing somewhere, and he wisely kept to himself when Killian was in one of his more volatile moods. Which, if Killian's being honest, was more often than not these days. But the sight of the open sea always soothed him, and tonight was no different. Killian gingerly lowered himself onto a crate, his injured leg stretched out in front of him rather awkwardly, and felt the tension easing almost instantaneously. The soft, cool breeze on his heated skin felt marvellous. Killian didn't manage to sleep, but by the time the sun rose, he felt much more like himself. He felt like a bit of an idiot though. He hadn't intended to get so drunk last night but it had been so easy to just keep drinking, keep chasing the numbness. Right up until the moment he'd clumsily stabbed himself in the leg and shattered what calm he'd nearly managed to find. Now Killian stood up and shook off the thoughts, returning to his quarters before the rest of the crew awoke.

Killian’s men took the news that they would all be in Pan’s employ from now on rather well, though Killian didn’t leave them any room not to. Apparently the only emotion he was capable of portraying now was anger. And really, that’s probably for the best, he thinks. He met with Pan on the shore as requested, wanting nothing more than to rip out the demon’s spine. But he couldn’t do that. So he instead he taunted Pan right back, one insult in return for each one Pan sent his way, and although it only served to rile the demon further and Killian paid for it before their meeting was over, he didn’t regret it for one moment. He dragged his battered body back to the ship, where the crew waited anxiously. He brushed them all off and slunk back to his quarters to nurse his new wounds in private.

* * *

Pan ordered them to make a “supply run” almost immediately, disregarding Killian’s still-healing wounds. Killian had no choice but to obey. He had to admit though, plundering villages again felt good, and if it weren’t for the pain in his leg and _other places he doesn’t want to think about_ he could almost pretend things were normal. He chased that feeling of normality and calm for hours afterward, standing at the helm, looking over the ocean, picturing Milah at his side.

"Captain. How's the leg?"

"It's... better."

Killian had made a point to be a little more civil to Smee today. The man was only trying to help, although Killian couldn’t quite hide his irritation at having his pleasant daydream interrupted.

"Glad to hear it, sir," Smee said with a small smile, “And what about your other woun-”

Killian’s good mood evaporated instantly at the reminder of Pan’s actions and Smee hurriedly backtracked at the look on his face.

“I-I mean… I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He practically ran away. _Like a coward._ Killian growled under his breath and returned his focus to the horizon. He’d been almost excited to come here and thwart the Dark One. _Good luck living long enough_. Killian was going to make sure he did, but he hadn’t counted on Pan’s interference. He had known the boy – no, the _demon_ – couldn’t be trusted, but the extent of his power hadn’t been comprehended until it was too late.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Killian’s anger only grew. He was desperate to keep his memories of Milah pure, not allow them to be tainted by his own anger. He wanted to think of her only with fondness. Remember the days and nights they shared together. But he found that each time he let his mind wander to her, it got harder to capture those good feelings again. His dreams, not normally pleasant to begin with, had dissolved further into warped horrors. Sometimes he was tied to the mast, screaming for Milah. Other times, he played the role of the Dark One, and it’s his own hand that crushes Milah’s heart. _Bloody crocodile_. _Bloody Pan._ He must find a way out of this cursed realm before he loses his mind. Killian’s only consolation is that Pan regularly sends them out to pilfer from more villages, so he can take some of his rage out on the men that try to stop him.

“Captain, the men are tired,” Smee told him carefully, the sun just coming up at the edge of the sea as they come into view of Pan’s island after another raid, “Do you think… maybe you could ask him if we could have a vacation?”

Killian stared at him blankly. Smee’s request honestly caught him by surprise. The rest of the crew knew better than to question him, to ask anything at all from him these days.

“A vacation?”

“Yes!” Smee lost the cautious tone now, misinterpreting Killian’s incredulity for confusion, “I think we’ve earned one. And you look like you could use a rest as much as anyone, just look at the dark circles under your eyes.”

He had said too much, gone too far, forgotten his place. Killian could see the exact moment Smee realised, but it’s too late. Killian lunged for the smaller man, hook at his throat.

“Pirates don’t take vacations,” Killian all but yelled, “They seek revenge. Which is exactly what I’m going to do as soon as I figure out how to kill the _bloody_ Dark One.”

He knew he sounded frenzied, wild, bordering on insane. His outburst was drawing attention from the rest of his crew but he didn’t care. Smee looked like he was trying to crawl right out of his skin to avoid the point of the hook pressed against his jugular.

“Of course. I-I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Know your place, Mr Smee,” Killian warned him darkly.

He gave the pitiful man a rough shove as he let him go, nearly knocking him over. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to give Smee a place on the crew. He’d been nothing but disrespectful and ungrateful.

Days later, he was forced to admit to himself that Smee was right and he probably should have tried asking Pan for a break, although likely wouldn’t have done them much good. Killian couldn’t imagine the demon actually acquiescing to anything Killian desires. But lying on the floor of his quarters almost delirious with fever, he thought he could have at least tried. He was not sure what had caused his illness but stretching himself so thin for this long had almost certainly contributed to it.

“Captain, we’re-”

Smee stopped short. Killian supposed he must look quite a sight lying there on the floor, shivering and sweating and only partially clothed because he’d run out of strength part way through dressing.

“Uh, sir, are you alright?”

Killian barked out an almost manic laugh and dragged his hand over his face.

“Do I look like I’m alright, Smee?”

Smee clearly didn’t want to answer that and Killian didn’t bother waiting for his response anyway, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. The floor didn’t seem very steady today.

“I just came to tell you we’ve arrived at the port,” Smee said.

 _Bloody hell, the port._ If the Jolly Roger doesn’t return with a full hold, Pan will have his hide. Killian reached for his vest, missed, had to catch himself at the edge of the table to avoid another tumble.

“Just a moment, mate,” Killian said, his voice slurring slightly.

He managed to grab the vest this time, pulls it on, goes for his overcoat and that’s when the whole ship tilted, throwing him back to the floor.

“Have we hit some bad weather?” he asked in confusion, trying to bring Smee’s face back into focus.

“Um, no?”

“Is that a question, Smee? Or a statement?”

“I think you should rest for a bit, sir.”

Killian was suddenly too hot and he yanked his vest off again.

“I think… I think that’s a good idea, Smee.”

It’s the first good idea Smee’s ever had in his life, Killian thought, and that struck him as funny. Hilarious, in fact. Vaguely his mind warned him that this was it – the moment Killian Jones finally goes insane.

He’s not going insane. At least, that’s what Smee said, though Killian couldn’t be sure because he’s definitely seeing things that he shouldn’t. Milah, for one thing. She was a ghost, flickering in the corner like candlelight, but sometimes when his mind was at its most clouded, she came close enough to brush her fingers over his cheek. He learned after a few times just to accept it, not to try to return the gesture because as soon as he moves, she disappears. So he lay still and silent and closed his eyes, Milah’s touch soothing his fevered body.

“I’m sorry, Milah,” he whispered.

“Sssh, my love, just sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”

He missed her so much it hurt, a physical ache in his heart. He still had so much to tell her. The crocodile hadn’t even given him a chance to respond to her murmured _I love you_ and now he’ll never get to say it to her again. He tried to take comfort in the hallucination now, telling Milah all the things he wished to but never could before. But other times the tricks of his mind were less pleasing, instead tormenting him with visions of the Dark One or of Pan, and after, when Killian comes back to himself, he’s most often cowering in a corner, throat raw from screaming, and several of his men are trying to wrestle some weapon from his grip. They stole his hook again sometime when he was passed out, and no matter how much he shouted and threatened and cursed, they would not return it to him. They were frightened of him, he can see it in their eyes, and if he’s honest, he’s frightened of himself too. Afraid of the darkness in his soul. When the fever finally broke after who knows how long, leaving Killian exhausted, and ripe with the stench of sweat and sickness, it was only Smee who dares to offer him a row to the shore to bathe in the river that flows nearby. Killian accepted, of course, but it surprised him that after the cruelty he’s shown the man, Smee was still trying to help him. Sometimes during the fever, they’d sailed back to Neverland. Killian wondered briefly who had taken charge and regretted not reassigning the position of first mate. It was a blatant oversight on his part, too distracted by his own grief that he failed in his duties as captain. _(That’s bad form, little brother,_ says Liam.) Not that it mattered, obviously, because _we made it back, didn’t we, Liam_? Killian felt terribly weak from the illness, and to strip off his clothing took more effort than he would have liked, not helped at all by the awkwardness that is only having one hand. They'd returned his hook again, finally, but it was no use to him in this situation. Killian feared he’d never get used to this, his newfound clumsiness humiliating and he was glad Smee kept his back to him, allowing his pride to stay more or less intact. The water was slightly too cold to be comfortable, but it was refreshing, and the chill was a small price to pay for his cleanliness. Killian quickly finished bathing and returned to Smee. He was running out of energy already, the fever having sapped his minimal reserves.

“Captain,” Smee said suddenly, his voice urgent.

Killian looked up from pulling his leather pants back on to see Pan staring back at him. His pulse quickened in fear, although he carefully kept his face neutral.

“Captain Hook,” greeted Pan with a smile that looked purely evil, “You know you don’t have to redress so quickly on my account.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in barely contained rage, continuing to dress even as his face flushed with embarrassment. He did not want Smee to hear any of this.

“Where have you been? I expected your return several days ago.”

“He’s been ill,” Smee interjected, “But the Jolly Roger’s hold is full, as you commanded.”

Pan seemed as surprised by Smee’s interruption as Killian was. The demon’s attention shifted, and Killian is grateful that he gets to finish pulling his clothes back on without the uncomfortable scrutiny.

“And who are you?” Pan asked, almost childlike in his curiosity.

It sickened Killian. Although to be fair, just about everything about Pan sickened him now.

“Smee. William Smee, but please, call me Smee.”

“Is this true, Hook?” Pan asked, his attention back on Killian, “You’ve been ill?”

“Aye.”

Pan stepped closer to him. Killian could feel his façade of indifference slipping as the demon sniffed him _,_ nose so close to Killian’s neck he was almost touching him.

“Well, I believe it,” Pan said, stepping away, “You do reek of frailty today, Captain.”

Somehow Pan knew exactly where Killian’s sensitive points are, mentally as much as physically. Killian would certainly have spoken up about that statement if he’d been alone, but he couldn’t risk Smee’s safety. Not after what Pan did to John.

“Very well, _William_. It seems you and your captain have fulfilled my order. And you know what? I’m feeling generous today. I will allow you both to return to the ship now and I will send the boys to assist you with unloading.”

“Thank you,” Killian said. _Bastard._

“But Hook,” Pan added, his hand pressing against Killian’s chest as he tried to move past him, “I do expect that next time, you will inform me much sooner of any changes to the plan.”

“Of course.”

By the time they boarded the ship again, Killian’s legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer and two of his men had to almost carry him back to his quarters. His head swam, vision going grey, body trembling with exhaustion. They gave him some warm broth to drink and left him to rest. He listened to the sounds of the cargo being unloaded in a sort of daze. The broth was cold by the time he came to his senses.

“Who took charge while I was unwell?” Killian asked Smee, hours later when he felt sufficiently recovered and forced himself to return on the deck.

Smee shuffled awkwardly in place.

“I did, sir.”

Killian couldn’t quite believe it. He looked at the handful of men who were eavesdropping and doing a poor job of pretending not to, and they just nodded and quickly returned to their duties.

“Really? You?”

“Why does that surprise you so much, Captain?”

“You’re just… you don’t come across as a leader, mate.”

And yet all the men had clearly accepted him as such when Killian was indisposed. Smee shrugged, but he still looked worried, refusing to meet Killian’s eyes.

“It just kind of happened. I didn’t mean to. I… I hope I haven’t overstepped again.”

Killian’s mouth curved upwards slightly. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s the closest he’d gotten to one in a while.

“Well, since you’ve already taken it upon yourself to claim the position without my approval, and it seems the crew will accept you as such, I believe I will have to officially call you my first mate.”

Smee just blinked in stunned silence. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated this outcome.

“…What?”

Killian grabbed Smee’s shoulder and turned him to face the rest of the crew.

“Men,” he called out, “I’d like to introduce you to my new first mate, William Smee.”

**END**


End file.
